A Ripple In Reality
by Leonhard van Euler
Summary: GEN! Hurled into another dimension, Harry now has to adapt to an entirely new environment. One with superheroes, aliens, Asgardian gods... and what in the world is SHIELD? Assumed an amnesiac, Harry is put in an orphanage and enrolled in Midtown High School. Friend!Peter Mentor!Strange Avenger!HP Mr. Negative!Villain
1. Prologue

**In this story, I will explore various aspects of friendships even under extreme duress. Also, I absolutely love the fatherly relationship between Peter Parker and Tony Stark, which I will try to replicate to the best of my ability. Banner's complex 'power' also intrigues me.**

 **NOT SLASH - BECAUSE MANY PEOPLE HAVE ASKED. GEN!**

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

Repetitive spell-casting in the heat of battle was addictive, at least this was what his godfather had told him once during their last Christmas together. He had heard his uncle, who had been in the RAF, discussing the same topic in muggle terms with his old army buddies. And now he was experiencing it himself: adrenaline consumed his body and a sort of foreign sense of calm overtook his mind, allowing him to execute magic that he had previously thought impossible from a fifth year Hogwarts student. He was barely casting spells any longer, now using his will more than anything. Even Sirius was giving him impressed looks as they battled Death-Eater after Death-Eater.

They had partnered up early in the battle; their styles synced easily and worked as a powerful tandem. As Harry bested the latest in a long line of Death-Eaters, another one instantly stepped forth. And even though he wore his mask and a hooded, black cloak, his long, blond hair instantly betrayed him. Sirius managed to down his current opponent as well, and a female figure stepped up to take his place. She was dressed in a very vulgar fashion and had chosen to abandon her mask early on in the battle.

"Potter," Lucius Malfoy said with a sneer as he waved his wand and dispelled the mask.

"Oh, cousin dearest!" Bellatrix exclaimed as she turned on said man, her new opponent. Sirius didn't say a word as he directed his wand at her. He and Harry exchanged a glance, to make sure that the other was ready.

"Aw, Potter and Black, didn't think I'd see that combination again," Bellatrix continued in a taunting tone.

"What is it with bad guys and monologuing?" Sirius taunted back, falling into her trap and succumbing to his emotions.

A goading smile spread over her lips; Sirius had lowered his wand, as he instinctively threatened her with his physical form instead of with magic. This was exactly what Bellatrix had expected so that when she cast her first spell, it hit Sirius square in the chest. An _Avada Kedavra_.

"Sirius!" Harry cried, throwing himself in front of his godfather, just a few seconds too late. Instantly, the two Death-Eaters began throwing spells at him and with a cry of desperation Harry was forced to cast a magnificent defensive shield.

It held up by his will alone as he turned away from the Dark wizards and dropped to his knees at Sirius' side. His wand dropped from his hand, right beside his feet. He felt his magic straining to keep the two expert Death-Eaters at bay, but perhaps in this moment it was this enhanced emotional state that bolstered it to new heights of power.

For Sirius lay in front of him, mouth propped open in a snarl and yet his eyes stared unseeingly into the distance, dead.

"Sirius… S-Sirius!" Harry cried again, shaking the man's body. It was still warm and felt much like a live body: but the heart was silent, so were his lungs.

Harry's defensive shield was starting to flake off, like old paint, and he was forced to let Sirius' head drop to the ground so that he could fight for his life, which his rational side was urging him to do. It took much physical and emotional strain to get to his feet and turn back to the two Death-Eaters.

He fuelled his magic with all the anger that had been building up all year, the frustration, and the desperation that he felt at seeing Sirius die, willing it to _destroy_. His shield dropped, and yet his magical aura flared around him causing any spell that came in his vicinity to dissipate out of existence. This was the first time that Harry saw true fear in the eyes of Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

With a burst of pure will, Harry blast them away, eyes flaming with hatred. His father, dead. His mother, sacrificed. His godfather, murdered. How many more was he to lose before enough was enough?

In an instant, both Death-Eaters were back on their feet and were running straight at him. It was only now that Harry realised that his wand lay next to Sirius' body and that he had been casting all this magic without it. However, the battle didn't allow him much time to muse on such things because suddenly Bellatrix and Lucius were giving all they had to fight him off.

With fury, he fought them back; magic coursed through his body so easily that it made him wonder whether it was him casting it at all.

"Potter… what—" Bellatrix was physically straining: a sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. In the next instant, however, Harry managed to nick her with a bolt of pure energy. Her shoulder was jerked back in a brilliant burst of muscle, sinew, and blood. She cried out: her face turned pale and she collapsed to the ground, clutching her appendage.

Worry entered Lucius' countenance. Harry's maliciousness became itself known when with a harsh movement of his arm, commanded his magic to slash open Lucius' chest. Layer of robes and skin ripped open, exposing the ribcage. The Death-Eater gasped and dropped to his knees. His wand tumbled out of his hand, landing on the butt of the handle and then rolling off into the darkness.

This battle momentarily done with, Harry spun around, intending to get to Sirius' side, but found that during his skirmish with Lucius, they had battled around the Veil, to its other side. Harry walked around the archway: the air in it rippled like water and he was almost certain that he could hear whispers emerging from within it. He gingerly walked around it, staring at it with awe, and only then began running over to his godfather.

Quickly he found, that he wasn't moving. Around him battles continued to take place, and he continued to hear screams of pain as joints popped out of their sockets, scars were created, and people were murdered. But he was frozen on the spot, as though he were running on a treadmill. Something was pulling him back.

He gasped out a cry, trying to get Lupin's attention — he was fighting Dolohov — but the man seemed to take no notice of him. The force trying to hold him back was getting stronger; whatever it was it was literally dragging him towards the Veil. He grabbed hold of one of the archway's columns, holding on to it for dear life, even as his legs were pulled into the current. In mere seconds, he was parallel to the ground.

Harry's hearing was starting to get worse. His vision was staring to blur. His fingers were slipping form the cold stone, nails scratching at it as he shouted for help. He felt like a little boy, screaming his throat raw.

"Lupin… HERMIONE! _Someone_! _HELP_!"

No one answered his screams of help. The world was dead to him.

Seconds later, he slipped past the archway and disappeared into nothingness and _he_ became dead to the world.

.

And then he woke up in Central Park.


	2. Facing The Music

**Chapter 1 - Facing the music**

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Harry came to in a park at night.

His Hogwarts uniform was in disarray: his dress shirt was untucked and the sweater with the stitched-in Gryffindor crest was frayed at the edges. The leather shoes that the wizarding school required to be shiny and clean, looked beaten-up and very used, or rather, the one shoe. One was missing. To a stranger, he was certain, he looked like a recently made homeless kid.

Groaning, he got up, thanking his lucky stars that he hadn't woken up in the small lake near him.

Harry's legs were wobbly as he got to his feet, but after a few steps, managed to regain some of his strength. Looking around, he saw no sign of his missing shoe.

"Right," he murmured to himself, looking around. His first assessment had been right: he was in a park. A few steps away, near a bench and under a street light, stood a placard with a map. A plaque read, _Central Park_. He massaged his forehead as a migraine began making itself known. Well, at least where ever he was, they spoke English which placed him in a Commonwealth country, or maybe America.

He began making his way down the little gravel path, heading towards a skyscraper that he could see through the canopy of trees. He was approaching what seemed to be a pair of gates that seem to loom from the darkness, when he heard a voice.

"Sir! Sir!"

Harry turned around: approaching him was a police officer, as evidenced by the uniform. He wore a gun in his belt — something which he was quite sure British police officers didn't have.

"Oh, you're just a kid," the officer said once he had come to a stop in front of Harry. His gaze raked over his appearance, pursing his lips as he did so.

"Can I see some ID?" His tone was kinder now. He had pulled out his torch and was pointing it at Harry's face, who winced slightly. His accent was noticeably American, but Harry wasn't able to place the region.

"ID… uh…"

"Don't you know who you are?"

"I… uh, don't have an ID," Harry muttered, raising his hand to block the light.

"What are you doing in the park at this time?" The officer asked, his hand now resting on his gun.

"I… don't know?" Harry really was not sure what was happening or where he was.

"Sir, have you been drinking?"

"What? No," Harry mumbled, supposing that the man was referring to alcohol.

"Your accent — English, right? You on holiday here?"

"Where _is_ here?" That probably wasn't the smartest thing to say, because the man's gaze hardened, not that Harry could see much against the light. It also made him sound a little crazy.

"Central Park, New York. Do you wanna know the date as well before you Marty McFly your way out of here?" The tone was sarcastic, but Harry actually _did_ want to know the date, now that the officer mentioned it.

"Uh, I don't remember much, what's the date?" Harry asked innocently enough, but the officer obviously took that as a smart-ass comment.

"Ok, that's it, I'm bringing you in," the officer said with finality, grabbing him by the shoulder and guiding him down the path and past some gates. There was a patrol car across the street, into which Harry was pushed. The officer got into the front.

"So what's your name?"

"Harry."

"And a lastname?"

"Potter."

"I'm Jack."

The rest of the trip was driven in silence as Harry took in the sights of a nighttime New York, which he had now ascertained from various signs and posters. But how in the world had he ended up in New York? The last thing he remembered was being dragged through the Veil… but how had he ended up _here_ of all places. Did the Veil serve as some sort of portal between countries?

He couldn't apparate as of yet, and he didn't have a wand, never-mind he didn't know how the magical authorities in America would react towards him using magic under the age of seventeen. Hedwig hadn't followed him here, so he couldn't contact his friends — or for that matter, Dumbledore.

A small, frustrated sigh escaped his lips. He wasn't really all that fond of waiting around for the Order to rescue him. It didn't take long for them to reach a police precinct. The offices were relatively empty at this time of night, nevertheless a few heads popped up to look at them curiously.

"'Nother one?" an officer said as he walked past them, sipping a coffee.

"Third this week," the officer who had picked up Harry said grimly. "The captain is going to want to know that homelessness cases are going up this year."

"I'm not homeless," Harry protested. Both gazes turned to him skeptically.

"Sure you're not," one of them scoffed. "Come on. I have to write you up."

The next hour was annoyingly riddling for Harry. It took all of his mind-power to convince the officer that he didn't know where he came from, who he really was, and why he had been in the park. The officer had eventually given him an NYPD jacket to wear over his bedraggled clothing and had directed him to a sort of waiting room until child services arrived.

Playing the amnesiac seemed like the smartest decision at the time, but now he wasn't so sure. if child services were going to pick him up, he'd most likely be put in a foster home or orphanage. But, he supposed, he had no money and no way of currently getting home, so for the time being he could at least free-load in that way.

He was in the waiting room when the woman from child services finally arrived: he'd managed to sleep for a few hours, but had eventually woken up due to unease. What if the Death-Eaters caught up with him here? No, he had to stay alert for the time being.

The woman looked kind, but she spoke to him like one would with a child. Perhaps due to his problematic childhood, he still looked somewhat younger than his actual age. She led him out of the precinct, then to a car. It was only during daytime, that Harry suddenly realised how absurdly different the cars around him looked. Actually, people walking up and down the streets had small objects nestled in their hands and they seemed to be using them to call each other… but they couldn't be mobile phones! They had little buttons and there wasn't much of a choice between calling and a short SMS… These people seemed to be listening music on them and there weren't any buttons on them!

The child services woman — she'd introduced herself as Joanna Marshall — had one sticking out of her coat's pocket, a thin little tablet about ten centimetres long and four or five wide. There were no visible buttons… and it seemed to light up every few minutes when a new message appeared on the screen. How odd.

"You haven't said anything yet, Harry," she said suddenly, glancing over to him. He was sitting in the shotgun seat and had been staring outside the entire time.

"Not much to say," he murmured, then in a dry tone said, "…ma'am."

"You're English — the officers said you had no memory?"

"That's right." Harry continued gazing out the window. There was a momentary pause. "What's the date?"

"It's October fourteenth. Don't you remember that either, Harry?" Her gaze was probing when she spoke to him. Harry looked away, pursing his lips. How had he lost half a year!? It had been May when he'd stormed the Ministry with his friends.

"No," he muttered shortly, ceasing the conversation.

"That's your new home, Harry," she said after a very long silence. She had drawn to a stop in front of an imposing grey brick building, that probably looked that way due to a lack of cleaning. The iron letters reading 'Orphanage' were more than depressing. Sitting on steps up to the door were two boys, about eight or nine, who were huddled together, mischievous looks betraying whatever they were planning.

"Let's get you inside," she said once Harry gave no answer. She guided him into the building, making sure that he was in front of her the whole time so that he wouldn't be able to run away. The two boys on the stairs exchanged an excited look — a new orphan!

The door opened as they approached it. An elderly woman stood in the doorway, smiling somewhat toothily at them. She greeted Harry warmly, but after a lifetime of seeing Petunia doing the same when in the presence of their neighbours, it wouldn't surprise him if she turned on him the moment the child services woman was gone.

But that didn't worry him, he'd be leaving this place in less time than it took to say _Quidditch_.

.

He was sent to school the following Monday, that looked so… ordinary, that it made him miss Hogwarts all the more. The staircases didn't move, there were no pets running around the hallways… and worst of all, there was no magic during his lessons. He hadn't attended a muggle school since his before Hogwarts and was severely behind in anything concerning the sciences or mathematics.

Harry ended up leaving classes with more textbooks and folders than he had come in. He dumped them along with his rucksack at the foot of his bed before finding his way to the common room area of the orphanage. A few bookshelves lined the walls for students of all ages and prints and paintings hung on the remaining walls. Two massive Georgian windows lit up the room, harmonising well with the brick structure.

There was a computer in the corner that wasn't currently being used. It looked futuristic: he had only recognised it as a computer because of the familiar keyboard. The screen was much thinner and very much unlike what Dudley had owned in Privet Drive.

He switched it on, attempting to remember as much as he could from his life pre-Hogwarts. It was shocking how much one forgot in five years. The computer booted up and a logo appeared on the front before opening on a desktop. A clock on the top bar told him it was a little past five. His eyes widened and his mouth popped open when he read the date behind the hour: _Mon 18 Oct 2017._

What in the world?

Harry breathed in deeply, very unsettled by the situation. All logic and reason told him the computer was telling him the truth. It was impossible for the muggle world to have advanced so much in five years, from when he had left it in 1991, to the date during his fifth year: 1996. He was somehow 21 years in the future.

What the hell had happened? How had the veil done this? And where was Voldemort? Wasn't the muggle world completely destroyed by now?

Taking another deep breath to fend off the emotions, he leaned forwards and pressed on an icon that resembled what he knew to be the internet explorer. It loaded slowly. When it finally did, a platform called google was opened automatically. Frowning, he saw a bar and a little icon of a magnifying glass at the end of it. Pressing a button on the keyboard, he realised it seemed to be some sort of search function.

Hesitantly typing the word 'Voldemort', he then clicked on the magnifying glass.

The first thing that popped up was a translation of _Vol de Mort_ from French to English. _Well fancy that_ , Harry thought, _flight from death_. The rest of the results had nothing to do with _him_ or the wizarding world. Frustrated, Harry tried various other searches, looking for mayhem an destruction in England. Nothing. Had Voldemort been defeated?

All the signs, although he kept ignoring them, pointed to the fact that he was not in his reality. In a magical theory seminar that Hermione had dragged him to once, the idea that there were multiverses had been proposed to the Hogwarts pupils. In one universe, for example, magic didn't exist, in the other, muggles didn't.

Turning his mind away from that thought for a while, his attention focused on the searches again. He found massive death and carnage in America, most specifically in New York. And everything seemed linked to this group of superheroes that called itself the Avengers. They hd had some sort of spat currently and had separated into two groups. One side had lost.

Groaning in frustration, Harry checked the date again. It had been four days since he had been picked up in that park. Had the Order not begun looking for him yet? He had no way of finding or contacting them, not if he was cooped up here the entire time and had no wand.

"You're a fan?"

Harry blinked as a voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to find a girl, about his age, staring down at him. Her arms were crossed and her gaze was somewhat confrontational. She had gestured at the screen.

"Of the Avengers?" she continued, when Harry didn't give her a reaction.

"Oh right. I only found out about them today, I can't remember anything from before a few days ago." The amnesiac cover had worked so far, people assumed he'd had some sort of traumatic experience and tended not to ask too many questions because of that.

"You're the new kid. The amnesiac." she nodded with sudden realisation. "I'm Monica."

"Harry. Harry Potter."

"Well, at least you got a last name," she said, with a small sigh. At Harry's probing gaze she sat down on the desk. Her right leg dangled off of the edge. "My folks left me here when I was a baby, never gave Mrs. Burt my last name. The default is technically Johnson."

Mrs. Burt was the matron of the orphanage: that strict woman that Harry hat met on the doorstep of the institution when the child services woman had first left him there.

"You're in my chem class, aren't you?" she continued trying to loop him into some sort of conversation. Harry closed the site he'd been browsing on and got up.

He smiled politely at her. "Perhaps, I wasn't paying much attention. If you'll excuse me."

Harry brushed past her, and exited the building when a matron wasn't looking. Just that morning whilst sitting in an English literature class, he had remembered Hermione mentioning something about the Ilvermorny school of wizarding magic in America, situated somewhere near Boston. Perhaps he could try contacting them? But what if his musings had been correct? What if he truly was in a parallel world where magic and… Voldemort did not exist?

Balling his fists in frustration, he kept walking, attempting to take his mind off of the impending doom, never seeing the figure that followed him up high on he rooftops, jumping from one to the other, an arrow quiver slung over his back and bow in hand.

.

"I got pulled out of retirement for _this_ ," Clint Barton muttered to himself as he climbed onto the next rooftop. He was tracking a _kid_. After the whole fiasco in the Avengers ranks, he had taken a deal with SHIELD and the government to stay under house arrest until whatever mess he and Team Cap had concocted, settled down. He knew Natasha, Steve, and the Falcon were still on the run. Last he'd heard they'd been on their way to Lebanon.

Having had a lot to loose, he'd accepted the deal, which basically made him the government's bitch. He had little choice in doing what they requested now. So when they pulled him out of his house arrest to track some fifteen-year-old kid, he had no choice but do what they said.

He'd been quickly briefed on the kid: Harry Potter, found in Central Park, memory loss. Electromagnetic spike in the exact place he was found. It was presumed he was not of this world, perhaps an Asgardian.

And tracking him now, Clint could see a pretty good reason why they thought so. The young man's colouring was like that of Loki; his black hair stood out starkly against the pale skin and the green eyes looked a lot like the Trickster God's had, once the tesseract's influence had been stripped off of him. He had the same angular features that stood out so prominently on Loki's own countenance.

As a result of these odd coincidences in appearance, a tiny thought had begun nagging Clint: what if this was Loki's kid? A shudder ran down his spine as he thought of that for the sixth time that day.

Harry Potter crossed the street walking directly past _Delmar's Deli-Grocery_ , just as another teenager, these days known as Spiderman, exited it, carrying a pickle and ham sandwich. Unbeknownst to all three, their interlinked fates would soon force them into each others' paths.

* * *

 **I'm attempting to write this story as realistically as possible. I've read a few stories of this type but Harry always has a too easy time adapting to the new environment. Most of the time he's a post-war Harry too. A fifth year Harry who's just seen his godfather die before his eyes and has somehow been transported to a whole different universe would react pretty dramatically, even if we're taking about Harry, who's pretty resilient.**

 **And yes, this takes place post-Civil War and post Spiderman-Homecoming (you needn't watch the latter to understand this fic).**

 **Anonymous reviews:**

 **InArduisFidelis:** Thank you! (Awesome name btw)

 **Victoria:** A lot is going to happen, trust me :)


	3. Understanding

"Harry…"

That tree over there looked like the Whomping Willow. It swayed like it too—

"Harry!"

Said young man blinked as his attention shifted away from the small green area in front of his classroom window, to the teacher standing at the front of room. She had her hands on her hips; her eyebrow was raised. Harry leaned forward in his seat.

"Yes, professor?"

The class laughed at the terminology he used and he berated himself. In contrast to Hogwarts, teachers seemed much more informal here. They called students by their first names, asked them how their weekend had been and expected to be called Mr and Miss or Mrs.

"Ma'am is fine, Harry. Pay attention in the future," she said kindly and turned back to the board — which was a white board upon which one wrote with markers instead of chalk.

"We're on acid-base Equilibria," a student sitting next to him whispered. "Page one-thirty."

Harry looked down at his textbook and saw that he was about five pages behind. He gave the young man a thankful smile.

"I'm Peter Parker. That's Ned," he said, gesturing at a boy next to him who was furiously noting down every word that the teacher said. "You're Harry, right?"

He nodded soundlessly, unsure of what to say. Again, he berated himself: these were just introductions, he knew how to do basic human interactions!

"How'd you end up in the US?" Peter continued in a low voice, cutting his sentences the moment their teacher looked in their general direction. He was obviously referring to Harry's accent, which was probably that which most stood out about him in New York.

"I… don't know. I can't remember," Harry murmured back. Ned kept shooting glances at them.

"What do you mean you can't remember?" Ned whispered over Peter.

"I just woke up in Central Park, couldn't remember a thing, except my name."

"Wow," Ned whispered. Harry didn't know if it was good or bad that the boy was impressed. When both Harry and Peter turned to stare at him with looks that said 'really?', Ned attempted to justify himself. "You only ever see full amnesiacs in movies and stuff, you know, like The Bourne Identity, or Unknown."

"Right," Peter said, huffing a short laugh at his friend's antics. He gestured at Harry's notepad on which he had been doodling drawings of Hogwarts and of Hedwig. In Hogwarts, he would have charmed them to move across his page. "You're into fantasy or sci-fi?"

"Fantasy?" Harry mused as he gazed at his doodles. He'd never seen Hogwarts as fantasy, to him it had been pure reality. The Dark Lord attempting to kill you in your fourth year definitely was enough of a wake-up call. "Yeah, I suppose I like the concept."

"I would _love_ to be a jedi… but it's a lot of action too, I suppose. I like being the guy behind the screens," Ned said, now fully engaged in the conversation and ignoring the teacher's lecture.

Harry laughed, not understanding a single part of the two sentences. Peter shot his friend a warning glance, for some reason or other. But Harry knew the furtive glances friends shared when in on a big secret which made him only more interested in the two boys.

"Wait, don't tell me you haven't seen Star Wars?" Peter asked, eyes widening as his mouth propped open. Ned similarly froze when he caught up with the bemusement on Harry's face.

"I can't remember if I have," Harry replied, scratching the back of his head. He hadn't seen the movies, actually. Dudley had seen episode four and had wanted to see the rest when Vernon had banned the movies in the household.

"Your amnesia could be a blessing in disguise," Ned said with awe. Again, he had to justify himself. "What I would to do watch Star Wars for the first time…" he trailed off in a daze.

Peter and Harry laughed at the overly dramatic teen.

"Why don't you come over — My aunt May won't mind," Peter offered with a small shrug. Harry hurriedly looked away, considering the offer. He wouldn't be a prisoner here for long; the Order was definitely looking for him and he'd be gone within the week. He couldn't afford to create attachments or leave people asking questions once he left.

"I'm sorry, but I have stuff to do," Harry said, suddenly closing off as he turned back to his textbook — and groaned, he was very far behind again.

.

Two weeks had passed: no sign of the Order and Harry was beginning to feel anxious. He felt paranoid like someone was following him and indeed, maybe someone was. However, the Order of the Phoenix was composed of some very accomplished wizards, amongst them, Dumbledore. Why were they taking so long to locate him? And how had the American Ministry not approached him yet?

Frustrated, Harry kicked a little pebble laying on the pavement; it struck a blue postbox - different from the red ones he was used to in the UK. He was leaving school a few minutes later than usual as he had stopped by the library to check out some books on the local history. After all, to change and act in the future, one first had to master the past.

The campus was nigh on deserted, as students had quickly rushed to their buses or trains, eager for the weekend to start. He was one of the few still there. So when he saw a familiar person rushing towards the audimax building (really nothing more than a sports hall with a stage used for theatre productions), Harry instantly distinguished him as one of the single people he had warmed up to in his brief attendance at this school.

"Oh — hey Harry!" Peter called, having spotted him as well. He was shouldering his rucksack and under his arm, he carried a couple of yellow folders.

"Isn't everyone here obsessed with the weekend?" Harry commented with a laugh. In boarding school, the weekend was only a break from sitting in class, but one still remained in the building itself; some even continued to wear the uniform — not that there even was one in the Midtown High School.

"We're training for the Academic Decathlon," Peter said, gesturing at his folders. Noticing Harry's befuddled expression, he elaborated. "It's a sort of academic quiz. Do you wanna come?"

"I'm not exactly a great student," Harry murmured. "And I might not remember much."

"We're in sore need of a history buff." Peter's eyes dropped to the stack of books that Harry was carrying. Harry acquiesced.

"Lead the way, Peter."

They entered the sports hall; sitting at two tables on the stage were four students, two at each. They each had a bell in front of them. A teacher and a few other students sat at tables under the stage.

"Finally, the prodigal son returns!" said a boy (having spotted Peter) who Harry had come to know as Flash, this school's parallel version of Draco Malfoy.

"I'm sure Peter has a reasonable explanation for being late," the teacher said, placating Flash. "And he brought a new member!"

"Team, this is Harry. Say hi."

Silence prevailed until—

"Hey Harry," said one girl, somewhat dryly and perhaps a little awkwardly. Harry had seen her in a few of his classes; she seemed a little out-of-there in a Luna Lovegood kind of way. However, when all heads turned to her she pulled an indignant expression. "What — he said to say hi."

"That's MJ," Peter said with a small laugh. "Flash, you know Ned, that's Cindy, Jason, Abe, Sally, and Charles—"

"Chuck's fine," Charles said with a smile. He was a short kid with very thick glasses and uneven teeth (which was unusual for Americans, Harry had noted).

"And I'm the supervising teacher, Mr. Harrington. So, what's your specialty, Harry?"

Harry froze, his first thought having been his magic; but no, this was an academic decathlon, this teacher was evidently only asking for his intellectual knowledge, not that Harry had much of that. His street smarts were somewhat more developed.

"I'm very knowledgeable in medieval history," he said slowly. Indeed, Binns had spent five years of his education so far talking about the Goblin Wars, often referring to muggle history as well. His monotone voice had a way of drilling itself into ones head, permanently latching knowledge onto the mind of its victim.

"Excellent — just what we needed!" Mr. Harrington exclaimed happily. He clasped his hands and showed Harry to the stage. "Let's try you out!"

.

As it turned out, within the first month of school, Harry managed to worm himself into a certain friend group that consisted of Ned, Peter, and a girl from the academic decathlon who called herself MJ. Autumn holidays (or as the Americans called them: ' _Fall_ ') were coming up and although Harry had been invited to stay at one of their places for the duration of two weeks, he kindly declined, stating that the orphanage wouldn't comply.

In reality, he had been hoping to sneak away from the orphanage and travel to Boston and see if he could find this Ilvermorny school of witchcraft and wizardry, located in America. He'd also been hoping to make contact with the Order. But as time went on, Harry begun to suspect that something more was at play here.

He managed to scrounge up enough money, from what the orphanage gave him as pocket money, and by helping out in the school library, and get a bus ticket from New York to Boston. He would have called the Knight Bus, but it evidently did not work without a wand — that, or it only drove around the UK.

An old lady had sat down next to him on the bus, and had spoken of her son the entirety of the five hours that it took to get there. She visited him every week up in Boston; this only made Harry wish he had had a family that cared enough to travel five hours to another city to visit him for a day or two before returning home.

Boston, he was surprised to note, had a lot of English touches to it; the skyline was lower and there was much, much, more exposed brick. But he hadn't come to Massachusetts to admire the architecture. Indeed, it took him some time to figure out how to get to Mount Greylock, but eventually managed to find a sort of tourist bus that took a group on a two and a half hour drive to the state reservation.

Harry spent the ride in state of nervous anticipation. He was even certain that he had felt the window against which he was leaning, shudder as his magic acted up. His core had been unstable since he had woken up in New York. It was much, more responsive than usual, much like it had been before he had learnt of his heritage and had performed all of his magical tricks with intuition and accidental magic alone.

When they unloaded at the foot of the mountain, the tourist group was told to regroup in the same place an hour later. Harry ignored the instructions to stay more or less together, and went off on his own. He almost ran up the mountain, his magic lending him some extra adrenaline and physical strength.

And finally… Harry reached the top of the mountain and… nothing.

There was no shiver that passed through his body when he passed a wall of wards. Nor was there a castle that materialised out of nothing, like Hogwarts did when one approached the school. Only an obelisk stood in the middle of the little platform on the top of the mountain. A plaque read that this was a Veterans War Memorial Tower.

He walked around it, pleading and hoping for some sign of the magical. Again, nothing. No runes, no spells. Nothing.

Ilvermorny didn't exist, it dawned on him. He swallowed harshly as another thought occurred to him: the wizarding world didn't exist.

.

"'Come on, man, you gotta tell us what's up with you," Peter said on a snowy Tuesday as he and Ned walked towards the former's aunt's flat — ah, _apartment_ , Harry reminded himself.

A northeastern wind had billowed into the streets of Queens in late November, brushing away the hints of autumn and bringing in a massive snowfall that covered every surface in a carpet of snow. The cold weather only mirrored Harry's general feeling to the world around him.

"So angsty," MJ said in her dry voice as she caught up to them, almost as though reading his thoughts. Indeed, Harry hadn't been in a good place since finding out that Ilvermorny and the magical world did not exist and that somehow, the veil had transported him to elsewhere. Thoughts of never returning home and never burying his godfather consumed him day and night.

"No, seriously, Harry, what's going on?" MJ dropped her dry tone as she grew concerned at the lack of response she got from the wizard. She grew tentative. "Did you remember something from 'before'."

Harry's friends had begun referring towards his pre-amnesiac state as a time 'before'.

"It's fine, really," said he, braving a smile. Ned, Peter, and MJ did not look convinced but let the matter drop, this once time.

Ned cleared his throat importantly.

"You haven't seen Star Wars yet, have you?"

"Of course I have, who hasn't? One family ruins the universe. Soap opera in space, right? Episode eight coming out next week. Geeks all over are excited, yet possibly a little frightened what J.J. Abrams might do with the franchise now," MJ replied with a faux-smile.

"I was asking Harry," Ned said in an exasperated fashion, but now used to the little tirades that she went on every now and then.

"Er — I haven't had the chance," Harry replied awkwardly. Peter laughed at MJ's stunned reaction. She was no geek of science fiction, but she _was_ a pop-culture and movie expert of sorts.

"We are rectifying that today… Peter you have all seven on DVD, yeah?" she asked, swivelling around to look at the other boy. He pulled an insulted expression.

"Who do you take me for?" The insulted visage was ruined when the corner of his lip curled upwards, only moments before a snowball hit the side of his head. Flash ran away chanting 'Penis Parker'.

As a laugh bubbled out of him, Harry caught himself thinking that perhaps… not all was bad.

.

"Command, Command, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Barton whispered into his comm as he gazed into a window of the massive orphanage. He was perched on the edge of a nearby building and was loosely holding a bow in one hand and binoculars in the other. He had felt it was somewhat awkward to stalk a teenager in this fashion, but SHIELD had threatened him with ' _do so, or else…_ '.

He hadn't understood why he had been instructed to watch Harry Potter, amnesiac, orphan teen until now: the boy sat on his bed, right hand palm up, fingers curled inwards slightly. His back was straight as he concentrated intensely on his hand. Potter's eyes were emanating a sort of golden light.

And above his hand a small flame had manifested, appearing and reappearing whenever Potter relaxed or tensed his fingers. Eventually, he dropped his hand and leaned back against the post supporting the bunk bed over his own. He was breathing harshly.

"Hawkeye, we copy," said a voice on the other end of his comm, interrupting Barton's muddled thoughts. He had seen Asgardian Gods, super-soldiers, an army from space, a man who could turn into a big, bad, green monster, and yet nothing shocked him so much as this young kid, who looked so normal and average… and yet who could do such an extraordinary act… as light a simple fireball.

* * *

 **I've always had a soft-spot for Hawkeye...**

 **Very surprised by the postbox differences in New York, England, and continental Europe. Blue, red, and yellow _and_ red respectively. **

**Also in this story I assume that the release-dates are more or less an accurate representation of the time-line. Civil War came out in Summer 2017, when Peter was just finishing his sophomore year. In Spiderman Homecoming, it was autumn-ish, so I assume he had just started junior year in late 2017. This story takes place directly after that. Infinity War came out in Spring of 2018, so Peter was still in Junior Year. Assuming (SPOILER FOR INFINITY WAR) he survived that movie, Peter will be starting senior year (and his last year at school) autumn of 2018.**

 **By this same logic, when MJ mentions the seven Star Wars movies, she's right. Because as this story begins in autumn of 2017, Star Wars episode 8 hasn't come out yet (14. Dec 2017).**

 **Guest:** It was very important to me to portray a really realistic representation of what a kid does when thrown into a world where he cannot use a wand or has no money... :) Glad you're liking it so far!


	4. Stark and Strange

**Chapter 3 - Stark and Strange**

* * *

Harry was no stranger to mayhem and destruction, but this was no comparison to the massive hits that New York of this world had taken. The Chitauri attack had destroyed quite a portion of Manhattan and whilst it was not directly the fault of the Avengers — they had after all been trying to save the city — it had impacted negatively on them. They had split in two teams and had battled it out; one portion of the team was now in hiding or under arrest. The others had bowed down to the government and now lived to their beck and call.

Which left Harry defenceless in this world. He didn't have his wand, the Order and the magical world didn't exist here and he was in the future. A future world which he barely recognised as his own. It was needless to say that he felt out of place in it. And powerless.

Once he had come to realise these uncomfortable truths, he had set about improving whatever magical skill he had. Already before Hogwarts, he had been somewhat able to unconsciously manipulate his magic to do his bidding by simply… _wanting_. He now simply had to implement the same sort of thinking to his magic now, after it had been tamed by Hogwarts' teachings.

He was sitting on his bottom bunk bed with his legs crossed. His hand was outstretched, palm facing upwards, as he concentrated on his will for fire. His skin tickled as though someone had just passed a feather over it. He tried the same thing once more, and again felt only that feeble tickling.

Maybe he was going about this wrong? Perhaps magic didn't rely on will alone…?

The Patronus charm!

It relied primarily on what one was feeling when experiencing an emotion, regardless whether the emotion was real or not. Perhaps it was the same with all spells and incantations?

Harry turned his attention back to his hand. This time he concentrated his thoughts on the feeling of warmth, perhaps partially on fury, and then… a flicker of fire was born out of nothing. It appeared out of nowhere and so quickly, that Harry reeled backwards, surprised: he lost his concentration and the fire flickered out of existence.

Focusing on his hand again, and thinking of the same things, a new, more powerful ball of fire appeared, hovering over his palm. As his confidence grew, it began strengthening and becoming less translucent. He was straining now and beads of sweat began appearing on his forehead.

…And he was losing control.

The flickering flame hovering over his palm jerked to the side as though getting out of his sphere of power. Harry tried to regain control and battle it away, but nothing happened. The fire just jerked a little more to the side. Harry then watched with horror as the flame lurched completely off of his hand and latched itself on to the bed.

"Well shit."

The fire spread, jumping from fabric to fabric, to wood. In a moment of panic, Harry felt his magic surge; the door slammed shut, and the window closed so as not to let more oxygen in. He grabbed the duvet from the top bunk and began slamming it against his bed, trying to put out the fire.

If only he had his wand and could cast an _auguamenti_ —

Was that just him or was the duvet wet?

Harry froze, even as the fire ate away at his bed, because something else, something extraordinary was happening: he dropped the duvet to the ground, watching in amazement as water trickled from his very pores and trickled between his fingers and then to the ground. Wasting no time, Harry urged more of his magic to cover the bed and its bedposts. Instantly a wave of pure water covered it, extinguishing the fire.

Feeling brave, he suffused the very air with his magic and forced the particles to speed up so that they were hitting each other at massive speeds: the temperature of the room instantly rose, something that he had learnt in his physics class. Thank Merlin for muggle science. Everything dried off in an instant. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and felt a sudden tiredness overtake him. He dropped onto the bed and promptly fell asleep.

.

"SHIELD, do you come in?" Barton said after a long, long moment. It took another few seconds for someone to reply to him. Everything he could see through his binoculars was simultaneously being transmitted to SHIELD's HQ. His handler was undoubtedly watching as well.

"We copy," came a familiar voice: that of the Director. Barton instinctively straightened up.

"The kid nearly obliterated his bed, sir. Should I bring him in… he could be a potential danger." Barton swallowed nervously, gazing though the binoculars again as he watched the teenager sigh from exhaustion and collapse into his now dry bed and fall asleep. His bunkmate would undoubtedly get a surprise when he found scorch marks and ashes covering his room and own bed.

"Do not engage as of yet…" There was a long pause as the Director seemed to reconsider his rapid decision. "Except... Barton, how would you feel about adopting another kid?"

.

Harry's eyes were fixed upon the laptop screen, mouth propped open as he watched the scenes of Star Wars Episode II unfold before him. The prequels were considerably worse than the sequels, he found, but Jar Jar Binks oddly reminded him of Dobby which only spurred on the nostalgia and longing for his world.

Nevertheless, they were a masterpiece of cinema — and the fact that one could watch such a movie on a laptop this thin kept on amazing him! It never ceased to surprise him how far technology had come.

He was sat on Peter's bed, next to said person, unblinkingly staring at the screen. He knew Peter kept looking away, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He'd probably seen these movies a dozen times at least.

A knock came on the door.

"You boys want anything to eat?" Peter's aunt May stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, eyebrow raised.

"We're fine thanks, May," Peter replied for the both of them.

"No thank you, Mrs. Parker," Harry said anyway, his British politeness winning out. The woman gave him a warm, motherly smile, the Mrs. Weasley sort.

"You can call me May, Harry! Any friend of Peter's is a friend of mine," she said, before closing the door behind her, leaving it only a crack open.

"Your aunt is so great, Peter," Harry said. Peter paused the film, which was going into the credits anyway.

"Yeah, she actually introduced me to the Star Wars movies — I grew up with them, man."

"I wasn't allowed to watch them," Harry murmured, only noticing he'd slipped up his amnesiac cover when Peter's eyes widened in surprise.

"You remembered?! What did you remember? Who didn't let you watch them — the movies?" Peter fired off questions after questions.

There wasn't an easy way out of this; Harry couldn't keep holding his cards so close to his chest. He bit his lip and his gaze dropped to the glowing keyboard.

"Uh, I — my parents were murdered and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle… They weren't very kind to me and didn't let me watch or read anything that wasn't exactly… ordinary."

Peter seemed to decide not to pry. His face had fallen and he looked down at his own hands, dwelling on something dark.

"My parents were killed too… and my uncle as well, about a year ago. That's why I live with aunt May, she raised me." He took a deep breath and his eyes met Harry's and for the first time in his life, Harry saw another soul plagued by the same darkness that his own life seemed to be cursed with. He had never wished it upon another person, but to know that someone else could potentially understand what one went through…

"It's been hard for her, but she puts on this brave face and just gives everything to me. I kinda want to give back, but I don't know how," Peter said slowly. He shut the laptop and placed it on the side before standing up and grabbing a miniaturised basketball ball, which he easily threw at the hoop attached to his door.

"My parents actually died protecting me," Harry confessed. "I was only about a year old, but I think I remember a flash of something— Look, I just know that if I could meet them… well, actually I don't know how I would react, but I know I'd cherish them all the more. Maybe tell May that once in a while."

Peter tossed the ball again, so carelessly that Harry was surprised that it went through the hoop at all.

"I'm really glad you finally came over, Harry. I love the Stark Internship, really I do, but it's pretty stressful. This was a great distraction."

Harry laughed, happy that their conversation had switched topics. Guys never were very good with emotions. "I think that anything that involves Stark is stressful, besides I'll help anyone procrastinate, I'm that sort of person."

Peter grinned. "You have no idea how crazy it can be, though. He flew me over to Frankfurt in the summer, y'know… for a camp."

"What do you do for him, anyway?" Harry asked, getting up when Peter tossed him the ball. He thanked his Quidditch skills that he managed to get the ball in on the first try.

"Uh… mainly damage control?" He phrased it like a question which instantly told Harry that he wasn't telling the complete truth. He had dealt with enough liars to be able to spot them well.

"Speaking of," Peter murmured, glancing at his phone as it vibrated. A text had popped up on the screen, from someone called 'Happy'. _Get over here,_ it read. Harry hadn't meant to read the message and he instantly looked away, blushing slightly. He tossed the ball into the hoop to have something to do.

"You have to go _now_?" It was a Sunday, did Stark not know the meaning of weekend? _Who was he kidding_ , Harry thought, this was the man who had created a whole legion of Iron-Men. He was a workaholic, pure and simple.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Uh, I kinda have to throw you out—"

"Say no more," Harry said, waving him off and tossing the ball back to its owner. "See you in chem tomorrow!"

Harry and Peter stole a few finger sandwiches that May had put out on the dining table as they walked to the door. Harry thanked him for his hospitality, said goodbye to aunt May and merrily made his way down to the ground floor. Upon exiting and turning right in the direction of the underground, he was greeted by a very curious sight:

Parked between Peter's building and the next in a little, slightly dark, alley was a shiny, black car. Hearing a sort of metallic, clanging sound above him, Harry looked up and was surprised to see a very familiar figure making his way down the fire-escape — and he was dressed in the Spider-man suit, sans the mask. The head that had revealed itself to Harry was that of Peter Parker.

.

Harry stood frozen on his spot as Peter jumped the last floor to the ground, directly next to the fancy car's door. The chauffeur that exited had a stocky build and looked less like a driver and more like a bodyguard. A perpetual-looking frown dominated his countenance.

"I thought I told you to bring _a_ suit not _the_ suit," the stocky man began. Peter looked down at his Spider-man suit with confusion.

"I have the old suit that I made myself so I though a suit implied that I should choose…?" The vigilante scratched the back of his head. "Ohh, you meant a _suit_ suit."

The stocky man massaged the bridge of his nose. "We'll just pick one up on the way there."

"On the way where?" Peter asked, cocking his head. The other man was saved from answering when Harry's mouth seemed to move on its own accord:

"Bloody hell."

Both heads turned to face him. The chauffeur-slash-bodyguard instantly reached for a gun and Peter's mouth fell open as recognition flooded his features.

"Uh—I can explain," Peter said slowly.

"You're the Spider-man," Harry replied, eyes wide. His friend. Spiderman. The vigilante who… literally saved dozens of people daily. It was reported that he'd actually been part of the whole Avenger-divide when they had destroyed an airport in Frankfurt. That explained a few things. That also explained the 'Stark Internship' that no one in the entire world seemed to have too.

"Oh, well I guess there isn't a lot to explain." Peter scratched the back of his head awkwardly once Harry's statement had registered with him.

"You know this kid, Peter?" the driver asked, his hand was still resting on his gun. It occurred to Harry that it would be a stupidly easy way to kill Voldemort using a similar weapon.

"Harry — he's a friend. Uh, Harry, this is Happy."

Harry recognised him now — he was Tony Stark's personal bodyguard, not that he understood why such a man would need security.

"There's a point to a secret identity, you know. You don't really tell people, otherwise it's not really secret, isn't it?" Happy said somewhat snarkily, but there was something kind about him too, in a sort of annoyed-uncle way. There was mutual admiration there too, Harry could now tell.

"You're the Spider-man," Harry repeated, still blinking. Genius, awkward, teenager Peter Parker was a vigilante. Well, he supposed by barging into the Ministry with his friends he had sort of done the same too, well, but not on a daily basis.

"Please, Mr. Hogan don't tell Mr. Stark. He'll kill me if he finds out that _another_ person knows…" Peter trailed off because in that instant, the car door opened and out stepped an even more famous face. Undoubtedly more famous than Harry was in his own world.

"So, kid," Mr. Tony Stark said, slinging an arm over the boy's shoulder. "What shouldn't Happy tell me?" And even as he said this, those piercing eyes settled on Harry's, deducing every little detail about him in an instant. The hairs on Harry's back prickled as a sense of foreboding pierced his very soul. Well shit.

.

 ** _A few months ago_**

Doctor Stephen Strange yawned as he slowly made his way to his spartan bedroom. The New York chapter building was generally empty, but every now and then a sorcerer liked to stay over and see the sights of New York: sometimes they came for the library, but today, a few of them had met up here for a small dinner party, to cook together and reminisce on the good old times.

Stephen had called the meeting though, to primarily discuss their thinned ranks. Wong, Hamir, and Minoru were the only ones that had remained living after the battle against Dormammu. In his opinion, he felt that it was their responsibility to now begin educating a new generation of sorcerers in the mystic arts. Hamir, the old man who was practically deaf, had chosen to eat quietly and then retreat into the library for further study.

Minoru, a beautiful young lady who was a master of her particular branch, had been open to the idea, and Wong… Well, he had suggested that they reinforce their sanctums to maximum power, before beginning to look for recruits. Stephen had acquiesced, but also remarked that if fate decided otherwise, he would follow it.

As though provoked, fate provided him with a new future student that very same evening:

Stumbling to bed, slightly inebriated with the liquors that Wong had brought, Stephen felt a spike of power overwhelm him. Instantly, his eyes widened in alertness and his cape attached itself to him. He turned on his heel and stalked out of his room. Wong had been the only one to choose to stay in this Sanctum; they met on the gallery that led to the winged staircase.

"You felt it?" Wong asked. It was more of a statement, really, but Stephen gave him a nod. The other man was already dressed in his night-wear, but he had wrapped a cloak around his shoulders so as to look slightly more appropriate.

"What the hell was that?" Stephen stalked to the battle-room. A map of the world was spread out on a green table in the centre of the room. It reminded him of the game Risk.

"That was close enough to be in Manhattan," Stephen mused to himself, casting a spell on the map to reflect the power in the real world. It instantly pinpointed a spot in Central Park.

Again, another spike of power disturbed their finely attuned consciousnesses. Stephen and Wong exchanged a worried glance. Whoever was giving off these sparks of power had to be immensely powerful.

"Let's check it out," Wong said, doing up the buttons of his cloak and affixing his sling ring to his finger. He extended a hand and a few seconds later, the Wand of Watoomb zoomed into his hand. He was battle ready.

* * *

 **My three favourite marvel characters: Stark, Strange, and Spider-man in one story?! Shame I won't manage to get Banner in... well only much later.**

 **I actually wrote the vary last chapter last night which made me pretty nostalgic and sad. Now I just have to fill in the story from now to the end... ayeeeeeeiiiii.**

 **Anonymous reviews:**

 **guest 1:** No, I'm sorry. Peter and Harry will remain strictly friends. I realise that this chapter may make them seem like they're a bit gooey with each other, but tbh, these two kids have just found someone who perfectly understands their plight. Also, Peter and MJ will always be endgame in all of my stories, even if only faintly referenced.

 **victoria:** Thank you! Yeah, Harry doesn't have a wand, so he has to rely on broader, more rough magic!

 **guest 2:** The realism was really important for me. Most authors write off Harry's youth... but at 16, I definitely was in no way as mature as harry already is in the books. And yes, he will become much much more badass... but character development and everything yanno? :)


	5. Strange-r with Potter

**Chapter 4 - Strange-r with Potter**

* * *

 _"_ _Please, Mr. Hogan don't tell Mr. Stark. He'll kill me if he finds out that another person knows…" Peter trailed off because in that instant, the car door opened and out stepped an even more famous face. Undoubtedly more famous than Harry was in his own world._

 _"_ _So, kid," Mr. Tony Stark said, slinging an arm over the boy's shoulder. "What shouldn't Happy tell me?" And even as he said this, those piercing eyes settled on Harry's, deducing every little detail about him in an instant. The hairs on Harry's back prickled as a sense of foreboding pierced his very soul. Well shit._

"Mr. Stark!" Peter said, almost literally jumping with shock, nervously looking between Harry and the Iron-Man. He was becoming his usual fidgety self, which he was when particularly nervous. At Tony Stark's probing stare, he tried to awkwardly elaborate.

"Uh, Mr. Stark. This is Harry Potter… he, uh, goes to my school. Look, I didn't mean for it to happen, but…"

Stark pulled out his phone, or whatever the little translucent piece of technology was. "Hey FRIDAY, search for—"

"Harry Potter, search beginning," _the phone_ spoke back to him. Harry stared with amazement. Muggles had figured out how to create sentient beings without magic? Incredible.

"So you know Pete's secret here," Stark continued, patting the Spider-Man's shoulder a few times. Both teenagers were looking at the ground and were looking somewhat chastised. Harry was not one to bow to authority but by Merlin, this was Tony Stark.

"I'm going to ask you, _Harry,_ to continue keeping it a secret." Stark wasn't even attempting to be at all polite, rather making it a sort of command.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Harry's voice was a pitch higher than it normally was.

"FRIDAY, what you got for me?" Stark turned a little to the side so as to give himself some privacy and listen to what his tech-friend told him.

"Look, man, I'm sorry, I promise I'll tell you everything," Peter whispered to Harry the moment Stark was a tiny bit distracted.

"Harry Potter, born July 31st 2001. Orphan at St. Jules' Orphanage. Arrest report—" Here both Stark and Peter looked at Harry with raised eyebrows. "—13th of October, Central Park, diagnosed with amnesia," FRIDAY said in a mechanical and precise voice. Well, perhaps this technology wasn't just as advanced as say, the Sorting Hat.

"That's it?" Stark actually consulted his phone to see if there was something there in writing or perhaps something he'd missed. Harry felt a little bit smug that there wasn't any more information on him.

Stark shifted his attention off of Harry and back to Peter, taking in his attire.

"I thought Happy told you to suit up?"

"I did, Mr. Stark, but I-I thought that we were going on a… you know, _retreat_ ," Peter emphasised the word as though there were some sort of other meaning to the word. It took Harry a moment to realise that the 'Stark Internship' really was work as a quasi Avenger, working for Tony Stark as Spider-Man in Queens.

"Didn't you get the wedding invitation?"

Now that Peter and Harry both examined him, they realised that he wasn't dressed in his usual relaxed attire, rather a tuxedo. Now the white flower in his lapel made sense.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, that makes more sense," Peter murmured to himself.

"In the car, Spidey." Stark said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Stark."

Harry was partially annoyed at how quickly Peter capitulated to authority, especially when it came to Tony Stark and his internship. Unfortunately he always seemed to take it as the number one priority.

Stark shut the door after Peter, and took a step or two closer to Harry.

"I don't know who you are; but you do anything to that kid in there and I'll hold you solely responsible, is that clear?" Stark was more than threatening, but he seemed to briefly well up with motion as he spoke. He looked away, fighting his emotions, before quietly murmuring to himself. "I can't bear to lose someone else."

"Tony, we're late," Happy murmured to Stark after having taken a call at the side. "Pepper'll be waiting." This seemed to stun Stark into movement and he nodded distractedly, before joining Peter inside the car. Happy got in and started up the machine. The window rolled down and Peter's head poked out; he looked apologetic.

"Harry, I promise, I'll explain, _please_ keep it a secret!" The car drove off, even as Peter was finishing his sentence. Sighing, Harry began heading home, to the orphanage.

.

Tony examined the little gold band around his finger, surprised that it even was there. He had never thought that he'd be the marrying sort, and yet here he was, four hours after the actual ceremony, married. He could hear the music blaring upstairs, where the after-party was taking place. Pepper, his _wife,_ was still entertaining their little circle of friends. A few of the Avengers, Peter, some SHIELD operatives and her family. He, of course, had none, save for the Avengers.

He'd needed a moment for himself — and to muse over Peter's new friend, who just didn't _seem_ normal. Almost ten years since he had become Iron Man, he had developed a sort of sixth sense for the _unnatural._

"FRIDAY, bring it up," he told his AI, as he slumped down on a stool. He flicked his finger and the screen on his phone popped up into the air in the shape of a hologram.

"What you got?"

FRIDAY wordlessly offered up various readings that she had taken in that alleyway, where Tony had picked up Peter for the wedding. He stared at the various readings hovering in the air in amazement.

The electromagnetic readings were massive: the range of frequencies of radiation was incredible, and the wavelengths… holy shit. Tony's jaw actually dropped a little bit. These were the same sort of readings he had seen when he'd examined the sort of power that Loki seemed to radiate. Now that he thought about it.

A chilling thought came to him: what if… what if... Potter looked suspiciously enough like Loki to actually be his son? Was he Loki's son? Perhaps Loki had escaped from Asgards' prisons? What if Loki had somehow shapeshifted to look like a kid? But what would be the goal? Why would he try to integrate himself into the life of Peter Parker? Anxiety took a hold of him as he mulled over these thoughts: he'd made the promise to his aunt that he'd be safe, and that he'd take care of her nephew…

"Sir, I have detected a similar electromagnetic reading in our logs," FIRDAY broke through his train of thought. A schematic image of Central Park popped up, depicting various radiation hotspots most were harmless. A number at the top dated it as the October 13th, 23:35. As the seconds went by, he watched with amazement, as a spot in the very centre of the park blew up with light, the brightness of the light representative of the frequency of energy waves.

This little dot of light eventually dimmed down, until it was a little more than a trace.

"End of recording, sir," FRIDAY said in her clinical tone, very different to that which JARVIS had used. He'd try to fix that someday.

"Tony, what are you doing down here?" Pepper called, as she entered the lab. As the door briefly opened, the music coming from upstairs blared loudly for a moment, until the door shut behind her.

She strolled sensually over to him, coquettishly fluttering her eyelashes. His heart briefly melted when he saw her: she was still dressed in her wedding garments; a simple and elegant white dress that was appropriate for their age and small wedding. He made a motion with his finger to cancel whatever FRIDAY had been showing him. No need to worry Pepper.

"I—well, I wanted a brief moment to myself," Tony said, spinning around to face her on his stool. They shared a soft kiss. She took his hand and stroked the ring affectionately before pulling at his arm.

"Come on, Maria wants to say goodbye," she said softly, smiling so gently that for this moment, Tony completely forgot about what he had just uncovered.

.

The bell rang and much like all the other students around him, Harry quickly gathered his things, dropped his paper on the teacher's desk, and exited the classroom. He strolled over to his locker to deposit his heavy textbooks and grab his coat. Christmas was coming up, and everywhere in Queens the sight of snow was the predominant visage.

"Hey Harry!" said boy turned to see Ned and Peter rushing over to him. Ned was carrying… was that a Millennium Falcon model?

"Oh, hey Peter," Harry said uneasily, uncertain as to how he should act around Ned and their other friends. "Hi Ned."

"He knows," Peter gestured to Ned, understanding Harry's brief look of bemusement.

Ned's eyes widened as he looked between Peter and Harry. "Harry knows?!" He exclaimed. A few people around them turned to stare and Peter made a small shush-ing motion.

"Look, it's a long story, but I was bitten by a spider, then I suddenly got these powers," Peter hurriedly whispered. "I have the proportional strength, endurance, stamina, all that stuff — of a spider."

"That's incredible!" Harry whispered to them. He could only imagine what sort of excruciating death a person would have to endure if bitten by someone like Aragog or another of the acromantuli.

"Wait, but you don't lay eggs, do you?" Harry asked with a grin. Ned laughed.

"That's what I asked the first time!"

"Oh God, no!" Peter said, laughing as well. He looked around to see if anyone was watching before rolling up his sleeve, showing Harry a sort of mechanism. "These are my web-shooters; they allow me to make super endurable webs."

"Wow," Harry whispered, eyes wide. He was even uncertain how one would create such an object with magic, let alone with muggle technology. "Peter this is really incredible."

Said young man glanced at his watch and looked up with a sort of apologetic gaze. Ned and Harry rolled their eyes.

"I'm sorry, I have to—"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about it. Ned and I will find something to do," Harry said with a grin. Ned blushed slightly.

"Actually, Harry, I sorta help him. I'm the guy in the chair," Ned seemed uncomfortable. Peter also looked slightly sorry. Harry realised they were leaving him out of this.

"The guy in the chair?" Harry asked, uncertain as to what that was.

"Yeah, I help out the tracking and stuff, you know."

They said their goodbyes; and Ned and Peter rushed off down the hallway. Ned presumably to some place where there was an internet hotspot, and Peter to an alleyway where he could change into his suit. Harry gave them a moment, before following them.

When he was certain no one was around him, he quickly cast a sort of disillusionment charm on himself, making himself virtually invisible. He wanted to see Peter in action. He managed to catch up with the Spider-Man a few hundred metres away from the school. He was already helping the first woman with her purse. Harry laughed when it was revealed that the man holding her purse really was her husband.

Harry had been following Peter for about an hour, helping with his magic here and there, until suddenly, he looked away for a moment too long and missed him. Frustrated, Harry cancelled the disillusionment charm and looked around, trying to ascertain where he was.

Shockingly, he realised he was in the Greenwich Village area of Manhattan. Brownstones upon brownstones surrounded him. He could hear jazz coming from a cafe of sorts. Concentrating a little, he forced the particles around him to begin hitting each other at increased speeds; instantly the air around him warmed up somewhat, compensating for his rather thin winter coat.

And there at the intersection of three streets, stood an imposing building. It was a sort of baroque revival building, in the American sense, that radiated pure power. For the first time since he had appeared in this universe, Harry felt magical power emanating from it. And as he stared at this magnificent building, the front doors opened, revealing an oddly dressed man, well for the muggle world anyway.

He wore some sort of robe and red cape that billowed behind him with a mind of its own. As Harry watched, he drew a sort of rune or sigil into the air; in an instant, this cape transformed into a very thick long scarf, and the robes into a black trench with a high collar. Harry stared, impressed. He had only ever seen sigils and runes used for warding, not for actual spell casting.

The man walked around the corner of the building, and disappeared into the New York winter. The door still hadn't closed, and a curious thought entered Harry's head: what if the he wasn't as alone as he had had thought? Perhaps the magical world _did_ exist in this world, just in another capacity — they _did_ seem better at hiding as well.

Slipping through the crack in the door, just before it shut, Harry sneaked into the building.

He was suddenly standing in a cavernous hall with a massive grand staircase leading to a gallery landing on the first floor. Harry gazed at everything with wonder. It was rather dark, and perhaps a little green in lighting. It looked rather like one would expect Slytherin house to look.

Harry slowly ascended the staircase, marvelling at the magic and artwork around him. Unlike the one in his universe, the portraits in here did not seem to be sentient. The first floor revealed a large landing filled entirely with magical object stuck in glass or metal cages or casings. He could tell they were magical simply just by the energy that they radiated.

He walked through this sort of magical objects archive room until he saw an open door leading to a grand library. With interest, he sneaked over there, eager to see what sort of books he would find here.

 _A History of the Mystic Masters_ , was the first book that caught his eye: most of the others seemed to have been written in other languages, some which he did not even recognise. This book was sealed magically; he couldn't even open the cover. He had seen books like this at Hogwarts.

Infusing this book with his magic, he allowed it to seep into the cracks of the wards surrounding it, before it cracked open. Instantly, the book fell open in his hands.

He flicked through the pages, amazed at the information that this library held.

"Interesting, no?"

Harry threw the book into the air, surprised. He even stumbled back a few paces. The other man made a gesture… and the book froze in mid air, still open on the page that Harry had been at. He ignored the book and stared instead at the man who had joined him in the library:

He wore robes and a maroon sort of cape; he had a similar beard to that of Tony Stark, and slicked back hair, faintly tainted with a few grey strands. His eyes were just as sharp and intelligent as Stark's, but there was something else there that bespoke of incredible power and omniscience.

"I saw you leave the building," Harry said dumbly. The man inclined his head slightly.

"You're the one who broke into my house," he countered.

"Technically I didn't break anything." Harry was being perhaps somewhat smug.

"That's not true; you broke the wards on that book," the man said. He made another gesture and the book floated to the level a table would've usually been at. He skimmed over the page. "B'sso, yes, fascinating man."

Harry's gaze dropped on the book he'd been reading.

"I'm Doctor Stephen Strange," said the man. "You're Harry Potter?"

"Why does everyone know my name?" Harry murmured to himself, remembering Stark's AI, FRIDAY.

"What's that?"

Harry waved a hand to indicate that it was unimportant. "What _is_ this place?"

Strange examined him with interest, before turning around and going into that main landing with the large magical objects collection. When Harry didn't follow him, he heard whooshing sound and suddenly he was standing directly next to Strange — it hadn't even been apparition!

"What in the name of Merlin," Harry whispered to himself.

"Merlin?" Stephen glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "No, Merlin didn't exist."

Harry examined the room again, gazing at the items with interest; he could see an orb, an oddly shaped stick, that looked suspiciously a lot like a wand, a staff, a whip, and so on.

" _Unless_ … Unless, he did," Strange said, spinning around to look at Harry. A small smile was playing at his lips; it wasn't very pleasant, but rather filled with a little surprise.

"You're from a different dimension," Strange continued. Harry blinked at him, surprised that the man even believed that different dimensions existed.

"You're a wizard?" Harry asked slowly, a flame of hope rekindling in his chest. Strange frowned.

"I prefer to be called sorcerer, or Master of the Mystic Arts. You call yourself a wizard?"

"Er, yes. And women are witches. Sorcerer is a name applied to the very powerful druids like Merlin and Morgana. They've died out though, the druids."

"Fascinating," Strange murmured, leaning in closer to examine Harry. His gaze seemed to dim for a moment before he seemed to return to himself. "Your power seems to only come from yourself. Technology would pick it up as electromagnetic waves."

"Yours doesn't?"

Strange quickly shook his head. "No, no, the mystic arts are an art; one learns to master the dimensional energies. Sorcerers draw energy from their personal reserve, universal and dimensional energies. The personal reserve can only power astral projections, hypnotism, telekinesis and telepathy. You seem to be able to break actual wards on a metaphysical level with only your personal reserve; it's fascinating!"

Harry blinked at him in surprise; magic at Hogwarts had never been taught at such a spiritual level.

"But you transformed your cape into a scarf—"

"It's a cloak," Strange said in an exasperated fashion.

"Yeah, whatever, you transfigured it earlier when leaving this place." Harry gestured around wildly.

"I used the universal energies for that," Strange said slowly. Harry frowned and took off the red had he had been wearing up until this point. Looking down at it, he concentrated on turning it Slytherin green, simultaneously remembering how much he disliked Malfoy and most of the house. It took a moment, but then a drop of paint seemed to spread through the cotton like it was made of water. Essentially, he had transfigured the cotton to be green.

"Amazing," Strange whispered. His gaze became more serious and he met Harry's eyes; he had that look that Hermione got when she found a new topic of research to obsess over.

"Teach me," the sorcerer said. Harry smiled.

"Only if you teach me too."

* * *

 **So technically Tony and Pepper aren't married yet in Infinity War (I distinctly remember Doctor Strange congratulating them on their engagement and Stark inviting Wong to the wedding as they were fighting, but oh well). I really wanted for that scene to happen in that way though, so I'm taking creative license for that :) Also Pepperoni (is that the name of the pairing?) is always a plus.**

 **Attempting to write as much as I can right now as I will soon be going back to university (urgh, four days of holidays left), so that I can keep posting pre-written chapters even when busy with projects at uni. I'm probably not the only lonely student posting fanfics on this website, so I assume several of you are going back soon too :/**

 **Anonymous reviews:**

 **Queenie:** Thank you!

 **Aki:** Definitely wizard bros, as evidenced by this chapter.

 **M:** hahahaha yes! Soon it will be other characters too!

 **victoria:** thank you kind person!

 **Fam:** No, this story will not be slash. It won't be anything. There are no relationships (except canon). Sorry if that disappoints you, but I'd rather explore the aspects of friendship.


	6. SHIT GETS SERIOUS

**SHIT GETS SERIOUS**

* * *

"I don't understand," Stephen Strange almost shouted, pulling off his cloak, which only proceeded to wrap around him again. Harry groaned, also frustrated, with the lack of progress, and also with the sentient cloak.

"Why don't you try again?" Harry suggested, trying to remember how it was to coach Dumbledore's Army back at Hogwarts. Maybe if he treated Strange the same way, he would respond better to his tutelage?

"I have, about fifty times!" Strange rubbed the bridge of his nose. Harry licked his lips then gestured for the man to sit. He did so, and focused his entire concentration on Harry. They had been at this for about four hours, trying to get Strange to do a simple _wengardium leviosa,_ using his core magic, and not the universal magic, or whatever he called it.

"Look I grew up with magic inside of me. I didn't know what it was until I was told at eleven that I was a wizard, but I sometimes subconsciously used it when in distress or… well, mainly in distress. I hated a haircut I once got, and it all grew back overnight. My cousin chased me when I was just a kid and out of complete desperation, I apparated — a sort of teleportation — onto the school's roof. Maybe we have to incite emotion, and not just focus on will?"

"Have you considered that maybe we don't have the same magic, and therefore I may not be able to cast your spells? You seem to cast it directly from a centralised magical core that you were born with..." Strange mused. He began to chew his nails thoughtfully, but his cloak's collar slapped him; Strange actually looked offended at his own attire, reminding Harry how wonderfully peculiar the magical world was.

"I did," Harry replied. "But then again, I was able to cast that spell with... what do you call it? Sling Ring?"

Strange hummed in thought, then seemed to gather his wits, because he nodded to show that he was going to renew his attempts to pay attention. Harry hesitantly began to explain his magic as best he could. He had never been the best student at theory, but perhaps if he drew his teaching from all the practice he'd had battling Voldemort over the years...

"We have a spell called the _cruciatus_ _curse_ — essentially invisible torture — but can only be cast when feeling intense hatred… There's this other spell, called a patronus that can only be cast if you are feeling something peaceful or happy, usually when remembering an emotion. I think of my parents, how happy we could have been and… well I'm not even sure if what I'm thinking of is a real memory…" Harry trailed off,

"Your parents are dead?" Stephen asked slowly. "So you _are_ really an orphan?"

They were drifting off topic again.

"I have my aunt and her family, but yeah, I'm all alone." Sadness swept across his face, soon replaced with a twinge of hatred. "But they're not exactly accepting of my magic."

Strange sighed. "Well, kid, I find it fascinating. So don't go beating yourself up for something you can't help. If they couldn't accept that, then they're the one's with the problem."

"Thank you, Strange."

"For God's sake. It's either Stephen or Doctor."

"You're not technically a doctor," Harry countered cheekily. Stephen rolled his eyes.

"I have a PhD," he reminded the wizard. Strange pinched the bridge of his nose and then refocused on the task at hand. Whilst their banter was amusing to both of them, they seemed to be wasting a lot of time on it. "You mentioned you use wands?"

"Yeah, we use wands most of the time for everything. I kinda lost my wand when I was transported here, so I've been practicing with wandless magic. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe it's just taking you longer because one, you've never used the muscle that is your magical core, and two you're attempting to do it wandlessly…" Harry mused, partially to himself, partially to attempt to elucidate the situation.

"Look, my mother… she died saving me, and it was her feeling of love for me that actually powered the spell that saved me. I know emotion actually often helps power certain spells... uh... do… you love anyone?" Harry felt somewhat foolish saying this, but even he used his friendship with Ron and Hermione to fuel his magic sometimes.

A strange look crossed Stephen's expression and he briefly looked away from the intense gaze that Harry was directing on him. Realising he actually had someone in mind, Harry nodded his head to the pigeon feather that he'd found on the pavement outside.

"When you're ready," Harry murmured and relaxed back into his armchair. It took a few minutes of silence until suddenly… the feather seemed to be picked up in a breeze which allowed it to zoom up into the air. It floated in front of them at eye-level before suddenly falling to the ground. Stephen released a breath he'd been holding an turned his elated smile on Harry.

"Teach me more!"

Harry gave him a small frown.

"Ah, you did say a spell for a spell," Harry pointed out. Strange frowned to, but then acquiesced, deciding to teach his first offensive spell.

Harry grinned and leaned forwards, eager to learn. Oh, Hermione would be proud.

.

Snow crunched under his feet as he returned to the orphanage by foot — a long trek. But the subway had shut down for the night, so Harry was condemned for a very long walk which included a lot of sneaking around and away from police cars patrolling the streets.

Eventually, he managed to reach the doors to the orphanage and had to pick the lock — Ned had been very kind to show him how the mechanics of one worked, evidently not intending for Harry to learn how he could manipulate his magic to turn it. So when Harry quietly shut the door behind him and began to move in complete darkness, he was very shocked when he found the silhouette of the matron standing in the doorway. She flicked on a switch and instantly, the main hall was flooded with light.

Harry stood there, like a deer caught in headlights as he looked around for inspiration to explain his absence. The matron continued regarding him with a stern expression that bode nothing good.

Mrs. Burt continued to stare at him critically and only when Harry opened his mouth to speak, did she herself speak.

"Mr. Potter, this is unacceptable! What in God's name were you doing out of the orphanage at this time?!" Of course, she had to drag God into it; then again, this _was_ a catholic orphanage of sorts.

"I was taking a walk," Harry said slowly. The matron continued to stare at him skeptically.

"I understand that this time has been rough for you; you are an orphan who can remember nothing about his life. You have had to adapt to a whole new culture… but this is excessive rebellion!"

Well, she was blunt. Harry opened his mouth to speak but again, she beat him to it.

"Your escapade to Boston also didn't go unnoticed; we excused you that time, as you were new, and you came back. But these late night escapades have become very excessive. I don't care if you're meeting God Himself, but you must be here by curfew. He can visit you in your dorm!"

Harry bowed his head, feeling not in the least sorry. She continued to eye him skeptically.

"You are grounded for two weeks: you will come here directly after school, sign off with Amanda, when go to your room and do your homework. You shall not leave the orphanage if not for school or an outing organised by the matrons. Is this understood?"

Harry gave a slow nod as he simultaneously thought of ways he could leave the orphanage that weren't the main door. Well, he'd always been a rebel, after all.

"Ma'am, it _is_ Christmas next week—"

"Three weeks!" she interrupted. Harry shut his mouth before she could add on anymore weeks. She glowered at him, reminding him very much of Snape. A female Snape. Ew. Even her nose was hooked and her silver hair was greasy.

She paced for a moment, and Harry watched her without moving another inch.

"A gentleman came by today looking for you. He says that he's interested in adopting _you._ " The 'of all people' seemed to go unsaid.

"Adopting me?" Harry replied incredulously. The only adults he knew in this universe were his teachers, Strange, and only briefly, Stark.

"The annual adoption meeting will take place on Monday. Potential adoptive parents come to take a look at their potential children, meet them and find out what their interests are. You will attend in your best clothes. You will be polite, and you will listen to what Mr. Barton has to say. Is this understood?"

Harry nodded slowly, still deep in his thoughts. Mrs. Burt gave him a gesture that said he could go and he scrambled up the stairs, eager to get away from female-Snape. He was almost in bed, when his phone rang — a cheap old thing he'd managed to get a second hand store.

Harry grabbed it, and jogged over to the nearest broom closet, unwilling to wake up his roommate, who already hated him enough.

"Hello?" he whispered into the receiver.

" _Harry, thank God. Harry, you have to come quick—_ " Ned's voice whispered back, very urgently.

"Whoa, Ned, slow down," he murmured back, wanting to placate him, before the boy got even more hysterical.

" _You_ have _to help us! Please, come over right now._ "

"Ned, it's three am. I'm grounded, and I swear, if this emergency is something like getting tickets for comic-con—"

" _Goddamnit let me finish! Peter's in trouble… he's not answering his comm, and Happy won't pick up. I tried to call Mr. Stark but—_ "

Harry straightened in the closet, posture straightening, mind sharpening, even through his exhaustion from his lesson with Strange. He felt an odd sensation of complete calmness and straightforwardness overtake him, much like what happened when he had stormed the Ministry with his friends.

"Ned. Calm down," he commanded quietly, but seriously. Ned instantly stopped rambling mid-sentence. Harry even heard an audible snap of his jaw.

"Where's Peter, where did you loose track of him?"

Ned told him the location; a small industrial building on the outskirts of Queens. Peter had been stalking some sort of chemicals manufacturer, the father of a friend of his from Comiccon. A kid called Harry too. Harry Osborn.

"Meet me just 'round the corner."

Harry cancelled the call, took off his shoes and tied the shoelaces together. He slung them over his shoulder and began to discreetly and almost soundlessly dance around the creaky bits of the hallway. If he was going to go into a dangerous situation, he had to preserve what little magical strength he had managed to retain after his lesson with Strange.

When Harry finally reached the end of the hallway, where the fire-escape was, he channeled his magic into it and with some intent, the lock cracked open. He wondered what the purpose of a locked fire-escape could be.

He managed to slip through the open glass door, managing to just not trigger an alarm of sorts, and again quickly climbed down the fire-escape. Reaching the pavement outside, he glanced at his phone and realised that Ned had sent him the location. Modern technology was fantastic.

Using all of his might, and some of his magic to boost his adrenaline and physical performance, Harry jogged all the way to the place that Ned had indicated. It wasn't close and it took him almost twenty minutes to get there. When he finally did, he found Ned already waiting.

"Ned!" Harry whispered, but at this time of night, a simple whisper was almost as loud as a shout during the day. The boy instantly spun; he was carrying a tablet of some sort and there was a head-set attached to his ear. He tossed Harry the earpiece he had requested. He instantly put it in.

"Peter's in there?" Harry poked his head around the corner and viewed the building critically. It was one of those steel industrial buildings and it looked somewhat abandoned.

"I lost contact with him. They seem to be blocking all signals."

"So this will be basically useless," Harry said gesturing at the earpiece. Ned nodded grimly.

"Unless you manage to get rid of the dampener, yes. But I thought it'd be useful anyway."

"Right," Harry murmured before taking another glance around the corner, casing the place. He could see a man pretending to be a drunk sitting next to the door. But he had a large bag and was evidently holding something within. A gun, probably.

"You were right to call me, Ned." He took a step back.

"I couldn't think of anyone else… I don't want to go in alone."

"Oh, _you're_ not going in," Harry said drawing his eyebrows together. The boy stared at him.

"Look, I'm going to need you out here. If I don't get out in the next fifteen minutes, call the police. Understand?" he said sternly, using _that_ tone that allowed him to command Dumbledore's Army. Maybe this was what Hermione called his leadership-skills. Ned nodded quickly, confirming this.

"B-but… how are you—"

"Ned, I'm going to have to ask you not to tell anyone about what I can do."

"What _can_ you d—" Ned was cut off when Harry disappeared into thin air. Harry had only intensely wished not to be seen… and suddenly he wasn't, but to Ned, he supposed, it looked like he'd simply disappeared.

"…Harry?" Ned asked, seemingly into thin air.

"I'm right here," said the wizard, startling Ned, who actually jumped in shock. "As I said, I have abilities. I'm not completely helpless. Stay alert, keep trying to get Happy."

Before the teenager could reply, Harry had rushed off. He walked around to the other side of the building where he found a window without bars of some sort. Unlocking that with his magic, he managed to fit through. It was a tight fit, but he supposed this was the first time that the Dursley's maltreatment to him had actually come as advantage.

He crawled out into what looked like a garbage room, with chutes and carts full of… string? Had this been a textilefactory at some point? Harry took the nearest steps and silently cracked open the first door. Instantly, his small corridor was flooded with light.

The main room was completely lit up: they had boarded up the windows in an effort to conceal the fact that anyone was here.

This warehouse, or factory, had been converted into a sort of base centre of operations. Everywhere he looked, Harry could see muggle weapons, metal boxes with the proper padding for more fragile and explosive objects. Harry peeked over one such case and immediately crouched back down so as not to be seen.

The scene that had revealed itself to him was not been pleasant indeed: standing around Harry were four men. Three of them were obviously the henchmen to the fourth one. They stood to his attention like Death Eaters did to Voldemort; it was quite unnerving. As Harry watched, the remaining, the leader, looking as though someone had changed all the colours in him to their mirrored negative, pranced forwards and nicked Peter across the forearm.

As for Peter… well, he seemed unconscious, although it was hard to tell as his mask was still on. His head had lolled to his side and the only thing keeping him in his wooden chair was a rope tied around his wrists, and another one around his ankles.

Casting an even stronger disillusionment-type charm on himself, Harry took his first experimental step forwards. None of the criminals even looked at him.

The leader had stepped forwards and was collecting a dribble of blood seeping from Peter's would. What in the world…?

Harry continued sneaking towards Peter and eventually managed to sneak up behind his friend. He held his breath, trying not to make a single shift in the air-quality. Up close, the leader was even more terrifying than he had previously thought: there wasn't an ounce in him that made him look human… except for the vaguely human body parts. His skin glittered with a silver-grey sort of quality.

The three henchmen all looked alike and stood with a zombie-like attentiveness, as though they were under an _imperio_.

Harry licked his lips nervously and then began untying the ropes. Making sure that the henchmen hadn't seen the action, he continued to hold them in place, but untied, so as to fool them for a second longer. After all, it would look rather odd to them if the roped just suddenly dropped from Peter's hands.

Then in one fluid motion, he cast three _petrificus totalus_ in quick succession. They dropped like flies. Their leader stalked over to Peter, but Harry was quick to pull his friend off of the chair; he cast an invisibility charm on him too, making it seem like they had disappeared. Casting another charm on Peter to make him less heavy than he was, Harry proceeded to run out of the place.

In panic, he ran directly back to Ned. Somewhere along the way, his magic failed, unable to sustain an invisibility charm on himself and Peter, and simultaneously make him lighter. After all, he had only just started to develop his wandless magic.

"Harry!" Ned called around the corner. Harry slung Peter over his shoulder. Suddenly, he didn't seem so light. That charm seemed to failing as well.

"Ned! Ned! Ned! Please tell me Happy's here!"

 _Speak of the Devil,_ Harry thought just as a car pulled up to them; a window rolled down and Happy's face popped up.

"So, what's the emerg—"

Harry and Ned exchanged a glance and the latter threw open the back door. Harry threw Peter in and then dragged himself and Ned right in behind the Spiderman.

"Drive, Happy. DRIVE!" Ned shouted. At this moment, Harry saw the figure of the leader pop out of the house, via exploding-a-window on the ground floor.

"What the hell!?"

"JUST BLOODY DRIVE!" Harry hollered, causing the man to jump in his seat and unquestioningly put the car into first gear, then quickly shift upwards in gear as the car gained speed.

As they left this warehouse behind, Harry turned his gaze on Peter. Ned had removed his mask and was putting pressure on the wound on his forearm. Harry bit his lip, feeling a deep sense of foreboding as Peter's eyes fluttered open, revealing a hazed, and zombie-like gaze.

* * *

 **IM EVIL.**

 **NED KNOWS, PETER IS... well, not gonna tell just yet... HAPPY WILL HAVE QUESTIONS... and well everyone will fear Aunt May's wrath.**

 **Harry's magic is steadily strengthening and improving. Necessity is the mother of invention, after all :)**

 **Comic book fans will hopefully recognise our villain as Mr. Negative :) I've decided to change around some details, because some things in comic books just don't work well in prose...**

 **I set up a poll... if you read some of my other stories, you might be interested in taking part, because I shall pander to the audience this one time :)**

 **As a side note, I'm a slight bit behind my year mates where computer skills are concerned, so I am spending (and will continue to spend) a massive amount of time on learning how to use VectorWorks, archiCAD, autoCAD, Sketchup, etc. So if my eyes are red, and my hands hurt, I will not write that day... (and I tend to write a few paragraphs most days)**

 **Anonymous reviews:**

 **Guest:** I know exactly what bespoke means and it is used correctly in the chapter, I checked, just for you :)

 **victoria** : Well, Loki and Banner is technically tied up with Thor on that random planet tryna get the hell out of gladiator fighting. In any case, thank you so much!

 **Spiderparkerpete:** Thank you!

 **Guest 2:** Yeah, I always have problems with serious relationships between characters when they're like 14-15. Harry's only 15 in this story and tbh, I don't think relationships are on his mind... not in his own universe or this one. In any case, thank you for understanding!

 **Aki:** hahahahah thank you!

 **M:** haha yes, I was really interested in their contrasting magic-types.

 **HonestPuck:** (is your name a reference to shakespeare :)?) Thanks! I really love Peter! Has been one of my fave in the MCU for years (yes, even Tobey Maguire...!). Stark is excruciating to write, though! but thanks!

 **Guest 3:**...how... am I this predictable?! Is this story so cliche?! *has existential crisis*


	7. Pottering about

**ehem. Sorry for the late update (one year and three months,** **whaaaat). And the saddest thing is, this chapter was half-written already. I don't blame you if most of you have dropped the story. My life really has gotten complicated. Studying for a year abroad, applying for internships. I'm getting my bachelor next year, so life is slowly becoming pretty important. Gone are the days when I could read until four am with no consequences. Gosh, soon I'll be paying full taxes like an adult. Anyway, thanks to those who have stuck with me...!**

 **I haven't spoken English for maybe two months, and haven't written for about half a year, so please excuse the weird grammar and sentence structure haha.**

* * *

It was the first Monday of the month; a day when prospective parents had a chance to see the children in the orphanage, get to know them a little and perhaps choose one to adopt. Harry had been asked just a few days ago by the matron, to attend, in his 'best attire', he mimicked her voice to himself.

"Mr. Potter, what was that?" Mrs. Burt, the orphanage's matron had loomed up from behind him. Harry coughed awkwardly and tried to swerve into another direction, but she easily pushed him into the main living room, where most of the prospective parents had assembled. It was noisy, everyone was speaking at once, and cradling napkins with cheap canapés.

Harry's gaze met with a few of the other friends he'd managed to make here, and they all, almost at once, rolled their eyes. Of course, all the kids his age were too old to be considered 'cute' or 'adaptable' to another living situation; it was rare for a child over ten to be adopted.

Everyone seemed entertained, and if couples weren't kneeling down to talk to a five year old, then they were chatting amongst themselves, pointing at a child every now and then, debating the pros and cons. There was one single man, alone, huddled in the corner. He was eyeing everyone with a slight disgust, and his eyes were narrowed. To Harry's surprise, Mrs. Burt pushed him in the man's direction.

"Harry, allow me to introduce Mr. Barton. This gentleman was interested in you."

The man's features relaxed into a neutral expression, cold, unfeeling. Harry instantly felt weary of him. There was no way in hell he was going to be adopted by _him_. Harry suddenly had the feeling he'd seen this man before, his presence seemed all too familiar. His air was slightly threatening, as though he was a military man of some sort.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," the man said in a wooden sort of voice. Stiff and unwelcoming. Harry realised very suddenly that he had absolutely no idea how to deal with children. They shook hands and Harry felt a cold void of nothingness coming from the man; he was shielding himself very well.

"I'll let you to get to know each other," Mrs. Burt said with a clipped tone before disappearing into the crowd.

"You can call me Clint," the man said stiffly. His right arm, Harry noticed was stuck to his body, something he remember he'd seen in aurors. Mainly because they knew they had to be ready to unsheathe their weapons at any moment. Definitely a military man.

"Harry!" The wizard in question turned upon hearing his name being called by a familiar voice. It was Strange approaching them. He was holding a folder. And most oddly, he was dressed in completely normal clothes, albeit, what could be considered 'normal' for a snobby, ex-successful surgeon. His suit was pressed neatly and cut specifically for him. It was jarring to see him without his cape, making Harry wonder how he'd convinced that insane piece of cloth to leave him alone for at least one morning.

"Stephen!" Harry greeted him with a hearty hug.

"Good morning," the man said pleasantly. Once they separated his critical gaze turned on Barton.

"Doctor Stephen Strange," he said, shaking Barton's hand.

"The surgeon?" Barton asked with a raised eyebrow. Strange gave a strange sort of lopsided smile; they were both very aware that one and the other knew him from another, ah, career.

"The very same."

"Clive Barton."

"The Olympic archer?"

"The very same," Barton echoed Strange's answer. There was an icy sort of tension between them. It maintained for a few beats more until Strange's gaze dropped on Harry again and he gave the wizard a smile.

"You ready to be adopted?"

Harry glanced at Barton in confusion, until it dawned on him why Strange was here, and why he was holding a pack of papers. His mouth fell open into a small 'o'. He had never though someone would be willing to adopt him… Him! He'd even told Strange most of his life story, why anyone would want to adopt someone around whom everyone seemed to die was a mystery to him. And usually he'd be selfless and try to talk him out of it, Harry somehow felt that sacrificing himself to Barton would not be a good idea.

"Very much! Yes."

"Pleasure to meet you." Strange gave a nod to Barton, then spun on his heel and marched off to find Mrs. Burt. Harry blinked rapidly at the dramatic and rapid exit, and rushed after his mentor, leaving Barton alone in the corner, slightly dumfounded at how quickly fortunes had turned.

.

"I'm here to see Peter Parker," Harry said to the receptionist on the hospital floor. He'd been trying to get in to see his friend for the past few days, but he'd been in intensive care, and only familial visits had been allowed.

"Family?" Asked the receptionist. She was new, Harry noticed. It took him less then a second to come to a decision.

"Yes, my cousin," he replied silkily. The woman's eyes narrowed slightly and he gave his most innocent expression. "I flew in from England just to visit him, my parents are still in the hotel room, they'll be here soon. You see my dad is his godfather. And to us the godfather relationship is really sacred, you know—"

"Hmm, fine. He's in room 506."

"Right, thank you."

Harry rushed off, looking for this particular room. Knowing Stark, he would have probably paid for the bills and put his friend in some sort of specific health plan. Finally arriving at room 506, Harry's assumptions were confirmed; through the small, vertical window he could see Peter's frail body lying in a hospital bed. The room was ridiculously nicer than the ones on other floors that he'd managed to peek in when looking for him.

Harry slowly pushed the door open, and then quietly made his way over to Peter's bedside. He looked frail, laying there, mouth open slightly as he slept quietly. For someone who always had infinite amounts of energy — positive energy — it was jarring to see him like this.

He sat down at the uncomfortable bedside chair. There was a bouquet of flowers on the windowsill, and the two bedside tables were covered with get well wishes and cards. Harry wondered if he was ever in a similar situation how many people from his muggle life would send him the same sort of letters of comfort. In the Wizarding world he had the Weasley clan to back him up. This thought simultaneously sent a pang of melancholy and warmth through his body. Not for the first time this week, he wondered whether he'd ever go back to his old world, and although he hated to admit it, he had begun thinking about this less and less.

"Harry?" asked a groggy voice. Said wizard glanced up; Peter's eyes had cracked open and he was making an effort to sit up. Harry instantly grabbed poured him a glass of water from a pitched on the bedside table. His friend accepted it with gratitude, closing his eyes as the water ran down his coarse throat.

"God, you look terrible, how long you've been here?"

"Thanks," Harry replied dryly. "Actually I've only just arrived. But you've been in a coma for a year, mate. Gosh, so much to catch you up on. There's this guy, Trump, who's president. The economy is shit, but that's always been a fact. Hmm… hover boards are now commercially made, let's see, it snowed in July, climate change and all…"

Peter's eyes widened in shock and he winced instantly when his eyes reacted to the brutal fluorescent hospital lighting. Then seeing Harry's sorrowful expression crack slightly and a sudden smile break through, he rolled his eyes. What troubled Harry though, was that zombie-like stare, which had been very present when the other boy had first opened his eyes, it was slowly dissipating now.

"How long really?"

"Just under two days. I think May's just gone for a change of clothes, maybe the nurse finally convinced her to leave your side for a few moments," Harry said. "Speaking of, I should probably call the nurse, tell her you're awake."

The next two hours were a flurry of movement, nurses and doctors came by to check on Peter's state. Tests were done, May was called, as was Stark, although perhaps somewhat more secretly. It seemed the doctor was on his payroll after all. Eventually, it was declared that everything seemed more or less fine with Peter, and that he'd be under observation for the next 24 hours. after that he'd be released. Harry, along with Ned, managed to then finally convince May to go home until the next morning, she truly needed a shower, a hot meal, and some sleep. It was nearly at visitation hours' end when Peter fell into another light sleep and Harry was joined by the last visitor of the day.

Tony Stark pompously stalked into the room, alone, which was unusual for him. Normally, there was an entire posse of people around him. At first he didn't seem to notice Harry, who was sitting in the corner, near the open window, trying to get the last rays of sunlight. Regardless of his neutral reaction, Harry was sure his magical glasses told him everything about the room.

Seeing that Peter was asleep, Stark quietly picked up the boy's chart, reviewing all of the facts and research that had been done. He pursed his lips upon reading the statement that everything seemed fine. Placing the clipboard back in its correct place, the Iron Man turned on Harry, who had been observing him like a hawk the entire time.

"You—"

"Shh, you'll wake him," Harry murmured, and slithered out of the room, knowing that Stark's curious mind would force him to follow the wizard. Once in the corridor, Harry slipped into the next empty room that he could find, then let Stark in, and then closed the door behind him.

"So who the hell are you?" Stark said somewhat too directly the moment the door had closed. This room wasn't lit very brightly; Harry could only just see his features as the man stood directly next to the vertical window in the door.

"I'm Harry. We met in the alley when you picked Peter up for the wedding," Harry replied dryly. Stark's eyes narrowed.

"I've already told you, if you do anything to hurt Peter…"

"Yes you already threatened me last time… sir." There was so little respect in the way he delivered his response, that even Harry surprised himself. There was unresolved animosity between them, and it took Harry only a few moments to realise why.

"Why don't you begin telling me what happened. Happy only had a vague idea when I spoke to him."

"Ned needed some help to rescue Peter from a life-threatening situation, I obliged."

"And how exactly could you help him?"

"I have certain talents," Harry said slowly. He bit the inside of his cheek as he considered what to say next. He chose his words very carefully.

"Peter was investigating a tannery, I think. There was some sort of gang holed up inside their warehouse with more weapons then I've ever even seen in one place. Peter ran into some trouble. I went in and found him tied up, bleeding. The leader… he was weird, looked weird. There was this odd shine to him, as though all the colours on his body had been inverted. Where white should have been, it was black, where he should've been blue, he was orange or yellow. And his henchmen, they were dazed, as if brainwashed. I untied him and dragged him out. Happy was there and he drove us to the hospital."

Stark exhaled, as though he had been expecting something worse. Then again, Peter couldn't remember anything from this ordeal, so Harry couldn't exactly see how it could be much worse. Well, he supposed death, or a dementor's kiss were… worse. Or perhaps even being expelled from Hogwarts, he thought with amusement, recalling Hermione's words.

"I blame you," Harry said suddenly, his mouth working before his brain could catch up to it.

Stark floundered for a moment.

"Excuse me—"

"You heard me, sir. You've fed Peter these ideas that he's a hero, that it is his selfless duty to save the world. That's shite. We're sixteen, for Mer— err, God's sake! Do you understand that the only option for him is to become obsessed with self-sacrifice? And deny his humanity? It is inertly human to be selfish and look for your own survival. You're literally sending him to death every time you hand him a mission! Why don't you actually make the Stark Internship into some sort of educational programme and not a suicide mission?!" Harry broke off suddenly.

His monologue had brought him to a striking realisation about himself. And Dumbledore. And how he had viewed the worth of his life until now.

Stark took this moment of silence as an opportunity to cut in. "You really care about the kid, don't you?"

Harry was surprised by this sudden deviation of topic. Stark seemed wounded though, as though he too had come to some sort of epiphany.

"I've never had a family, Mr. Stark, and the family I _did_ have, were not happy to have me there. Peter's one of the only people who has ever, without interest in gaining something from me, befriended me."

"You're definitely not Loki," Stark muttered to himself. This statement caused Harry to splutter and furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

"Loki?"

"Oh never mind," Stark waved his hand dismissively.

"Look, Mr. Stark, Peter's going to continue being Spiderman. Of course he will, but maybe at least, you could help him out, get him to understand the grey areas, understand limits."

"Pepper's been saying the same…" Stark again mumbled, then in a louder voice, continued. "Look, I don't know what your deal is, and I can't find any information on you—"

"You're threatening me again?"

Stark's lip curled downwards in a frown.

"SHIELD has been following you."

"SHIELD?" Harry blinked. Was he destined to become the centrepiece of occasional dramas?

"They're a military organisation, I hacked their system, found this video," Stark said.

He pulled out a transparent device, which upon settling in his palm, lit up with blue letters. He seemed to tap on various hologram letters, until a hologram screen, also in the same blue light, popped up between them. It looked much like a patronus. But all thoughts of this revolutionary technology flew out of Harry's mind faster than a firebolt when he saw a recording from a rooftop of himself, sitting in his room, practicing making fire out of the palm of his hand.

"Okay. I did say I have special abilities," Harry said slowly, once the recording ended. He came to a sudden thought. "Is Clint Barton somehow part of SHIELD?"

This time, Stark looked confused.

"How do you know him? The world knows him as Hawkeye only…"

Harry remembered researching the Avengers — well now it made sense why Barton had seemed sort of familiar when he had met him at that monthly adoption fair at the orphanage.

"He tried to adopt me," Harry said matter-of-factly. Stark actually laughed at this comment.

"Clint? Adopt a kid? God, Fury must be more desperate than I thought."

"Why did you tell me SHIELD was following me?"

"Everyone has a right to know that they're being stalked," Stark replied sardonically. Harry considered that statement, then slowly nodded.

"Thank you." It was an earnest thanks. He relaxed slightly.

"Look, kid, I don't trust you… much. Here's my direct line. Next time anything happens to Peter, I want you to call me directly."

Harry smiled for the first time, accepting the slip of paper and placing it in a jacket pocket.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark."

* * *

 **Face off with Stark - finally! He's really exhausting to write, because he really, really** **doesn't fit my style of conversing. The vocabulary is just completely different. It's like translating a Euripides text vs Plato text. You just have to learn a whole new textbook of vocabulary and grammar to be able to understand each one of them.**

 **Well in any case, Mr. Negative will soon be having an effect on our dear Mr. Peter Parker :)**


End file.
